


gifts and kisses

by aresentfulcaretaker



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 07:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aresentfulcaretaker/pseuds/aresentfulcaretaker
Summary: Graves buys some gifts. Dumbledore gives some kisses.





	gifts and kisses

The bar’s heat does not reach the tiny, glass vestibule. Graves and Dumbledore stand close, as much for warmth as the lack of space. Outside, a mild blizzard swirls white and menacing.

Graves has already prepared himself to leave, coat buttoned, scarf wrapped tight. Dumbledore, on the other hand, is still pulling himself together. It takes Graves a moment of watching him to realize he’s searching his pockets.

“Lose something?” Graves asks.

“Forgotten, I think. My earmuffs. I must have left them home.” He glances out into the storm, then shrugs. “Ah, well. Worn out old things, anyway. It’s been a lovely night, Percival. Thank you.”

Graves returns the sentiment. It’s his cue to leave but he doesn’t. Dumbledore doesn't mind. He carries on with the pleasantries as he buttons up his coat.

“I’ll have to return the treat, should you ever venture across the pond. Send an owl if you do.”

“I will.” Then, “You know where your inn is from here?”

“I’ll be fine.” 

 

x

 

It’s autumn when next they meet. Graves has business in London and travels up when it’s through. The school year just begun, Dumbledore can only meet in the afternoon when his classes are through.

He arrives in his usual good mood, smiling before he’s even sat down. Graves does not smile back, does not say hello. He simply looks up from his paper long enough to acknowledge his companion and then goes back to it.

They order coffee and cake. Dumbledore tells Graves about his day, how he’s started off his students on Nocturnal Beasts. Graves listens and responses with a story of his own, one from his early professional years. He’s just about finished it when Dumbledore notices the wrapped package at his hip.

“Is that for me?” He asks.

Graves hands it over, casual. Nonchalant. “The shop girl wrapped them. I didn’t ask her to.”

“She did a lovely job.”

Dumbledore tears it open. With a little laugh, his contained curiosity gives way to unabashed delight. New earmuffs.

“You remembered.” He pushes away the rest of the wrapping and turn them over in his hands. They’re a handsome pair, sturdy but soft.

“I saw them,” Graves says, as if to lesson the sentiment and intention. The attempt falls on deaf ears. Dumbledore is preoccupied with trying them on.

“They’re far better than the last pair. Thank you, Percival.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Dumbledore sets them down beside his plate of cake. He's happy as a child, looking between the two.

“How are the Quidditch teams shaping up this year?” Graves asks.

And Dumbledore allows himself to be led away from the topic of his gift. They talk about tryouts and the changing of the seasons, about grading papers and congressional work. Graves almost forgets the earmuffs altogether. Until it comes time to say goodbye.

Graves, in no hurry to get back to his hotel, is staying. Dumbledore, needed at the school, is going.

“We must see each other again soon,” Dumbledore says. He stands beside Graves’s chair, earmuffs in hand.

“Yes.” Graves looks up to nod agreement. Rather than receive a goodbye or a wave, he is given a kiss.

Light, barely there, on his cheek. He does not react, blinking away his surprise. Dumbledore does not seem to mind the lack of reaction.

He gives Graves’s shoulder a squeeze and repeats, “Soon.”

 

x

 

Soon is the dead of winter, just before Christmas. Hogsmeade teems with the festive and determined. Those who won’t allow the sleet and freezing temperatures to stay them home.

Graves makes sure to arrive early. With the extra time it affords him, he sets the table. He orders two butterbeers, gingered wine, brandy. Something sweet for Dumbledore, something savory for himself. And in among the food and drink he places an enormous bag of sherbet lemons.

Dropping into the booth opposite Graves, Dumbledore fusses with is scarf. It's soaked through with snow and is doing little to keep him warm. He sheds his gloves next and his earmuffs last. Deliberately, so that Graves may see.

Once he settles, he speaks. “You’re looking well.”

“You’re looking tired.”

“The week before break is always a long one.”

“Kids giving you trouble?” Graves pushes the brandy towards him.

“Giving themselves trouble. I can only try to help.” He takes a sip and hums appreciation. The sound fades when his eyes settle on the sherbet lemons. “How will you be spending your time off?”

“Waiting to be summoned back.” Graves never gets through a vacation without it being cut short by a call from Picquery.

“And if you’re not?”

“I’ll sleep, I think.”

“Ah, rest. Time well spent.” Finishing off the brandy, “Will you be returning to the States?”

“I’m hoping if I stay out of the country, Picquery might be discouraged.”

“I can’t imagine anything discouraging her. Least of all something as trivial as physical distance.”

“You’re right. Maybe I will go back.”

“That’s not what I meant. You know that. Stay while you can. Visit the school, I’ll show you around.”

“I’ve never been.”

“I know. And not to sound too proud but you really couldn’t hope for a better guide. The castle, I know all its secrets.”

Graves concedes. “Hard to turn that down.”

The small victory pleases Dumbledore. Graves can tell by the way he speaks the rest of the night, energetic and enthusiastic. He tells of his recent readings and writings, of his students and colleagues. He does so without the expectation of response, allowing Graves to enjoy himself silently listening, asking questions only as needed.

The sherbet lemons are not discussed. When it comes time to go, Dumbledore picks them up and stows them in his pocket. Graves watches him do it out of the corner of his eye while counting out a tip.

They pick a time and day for the school visit. A group of a giggling, drunken witches block the exit. Rather than fight their way through, Dumbledore and Graves wait in a small alcove, off to the side.

It’s there that Dumbledore takes a light hold on Graves’s arm. Both the same height, he need only lean in to press a kiss to Graves’s cheek. It’s longer than the last. Perhaps because Dumbledore knows it is welcome.

The witches stumble out into the street, shrieking and laughing. They follow, Graves a step behind. He scans the room to see if there were any witnesses. None make themselves known. The moment is his and Albus’s alone.

 

x

  
  


Like fools, they go walking outside. Hogwarts castle looms on one side, the grounds stretch out far on the other. The snow is packed tight enough underfoot to hold them. Their footprints live short lives, filled in quick by the shifting winds.

“This,” Graves says, “is one of those places you never get tired of. Or have you?”

“No. No, I don’t believe I’ll ever become less enchanted with Hogwarts." Dumbledore shifts his weight with his next step, bumping shoulders with Graves, prompting. “How did you feel about Ilvermorny?”

“Eager to leave it behind. But not because it wasn’t beautiful.”

“Did you work hard as a student?”

“Yes.”

“Turned in all your assignments? On time and legible?”

Graves smiles. “Yes, Professor.”

“Good boy.”

Light flurries begin to fall. A headwind picks up.

“I… I got you something.”

“Did you?” Dumbledore’s is quiet. He looks to the sky.

Graves pulls three packages from his enchanted coat pocket and passes them over. Dumbledore accepts them with care. It’s not convenient out here, no desk to aid him. But it feels private without feeling intimate. It’s what Graves needs.

Dumbledore only tears enough of the wrapping to see what each is. Two are leather bound journals. The last is a new quill. Simple but high quality. Obviously bought in Hogsmeade.

“Early Christmas presents,” Graves says.

They slow to a stop. Dumbledore shifts his gifts beneath one arm, pocketing the torn wrapping paper. He scratches his chin. When he speaks, his voice sounds like he’s half choked on a laugh or a sigh. “You could just ask, you know.”

“Ask?”

“Never mind.”

He takes Graves’s hand and brings it up, kisses his knuckles. He tilts his head, kisses his cheek. He leans forward, shifting his weight into Graves’s, and kisses him on the lips.

Graves, having gone still at the first touch, moves to be more accommodating. Their chests connect, arms coming up for a loose embrace. Their lips fit together and the kiss deepens. It’s a wonderfully warm moment.

It ends too quickly. Dumbledore draws back. Graves watches his face through the condensed cloud of their heavy breath. By its expression he knows he should take a step back for the both of them. “I need never ask.”

“No, I meant it.” Dumbledore won't look at him. “But please, don’t ask too much.”

“I’ll take care not to.”

They start their way back to the castle. It’s visible like a shadow, lost behind the heavy veil of snow. Graves changes his mind. There is intimacy out here. They found it and shared it. He’s glad they did.


End file.
